There were shadows beneath her eyes and darkness in them. A darkness I was all too familiar with. Grief could fuck right the hell off to fucksville. “You’re so here,” I repeated. I don’t know which of us I was assuring, Frankie or me.
Thankfully, Frankie laughed. “Yes, we’re here. What are you doing here?”
“To see you two. Your last email sounded freaked out.” It was the absolute truth. There was a lot of freaking out in that email. I’d been in her shoes once, only I’d had a history in the business and some familiarity, not to mention Yvette and Aubrey. Ian was great, but he wasn’t us.
“I am not freaked out, I’m fine.”
“Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional?” I countered. So familiar and unsettling. “We totally get it. Been there…”
“…done that,” Yvette said and Aubrey added, “Trust us, we have all the t-shirts.”
“And the rehab bills.” I smirked though Aubrey shot me a look at the joke. “So, first things first, we’re old hats at this business, and I needed a break from the East Coast, so we’re staying at my mom’s place in Beverly Hills. They aren’t there right now so it’s even better.” I glanced past her at the driver who was waiting for them. “Car service or full-time hire for the visit?”
“Car service,” Frankie said.
“Fantastic. I got this.” I gave her another hug before I made a beeline for the driver, whose name turned out to be Paul. “They aren’t going to be staying at the hotel, so you can take their things out to Beverly Hills,” I gave him the address. “This is where they’ll be. I’m going to give them a ride in our car.”
I handed him a hundred; it was the smallest bill I had in my little wallet. He didn’t need any persuading at all, and then he was putting their things back in the car.
“Okay!” I hurried back over to them. “Paul is going to bring your luggage out to our place. You’re riding with us. Our car is on the other side of the building.” It was like I’d downed two back-to-back energy drinks. This was the best pick-me-up. Frankie slid her backpack on while Ian picked up their guitar cases. “This is going to be great. Do you guys want help with those?”
“I got it,” Ian assured me.
“Great.” Time to get moving. We hadn’t been seen or hounded, a great thing about L.A. and about hotels like this. Even if you were recognized, people tended to give you a wide berth and respect your privacy.
“Thank you, Paul,” Frankie said to their driver as I hooked my arm through hers. “We should probably cancel our reservations.”
“Not a problem.” It really wasn’t. “We can call them from the car. Are you tired? Hungry? Want us to stop somewhere and grab food? We need to take you out to Mackie’s.” So good. The food there was just the best.
“Later,” Yvette said, her French accent lifting the word. “Let’s not overwhelm them.”
At the pointed look from Aubrey, I grimaced and pivoted to face Frankie and Ian. “I’m not overwhelming you guys, am I? I mean, I know this is a surprise—so like hey, surprise! But I thought it would be easier if you had a quiet place to retreat. Recording a first album is both exciting and nightmarish and we’ve been there and well—I mean—if you wanted to stay here?”
The couple exchanged one look, and he just nodded before Frankie looked at me again. “You’re not overwhelming us, and this is a fantastic surprise. It really is.”
“Good.” Relief swarmed me. “I felt so bad we couldn’t make it to the funeral, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And I genuinely want to do this for you.”
Frankie gave me a smile, a sad one, but it was still a smile. “You don’t have to do anything. But I really appreciate that you want to.”
“Same,” Ian added. “Friends are always welcome.”
“Wonderful!” I clapped my hands. Definitely not going to bring us down any more than I already had. “Let’s go.”
Dix laughed as we got everyone seated. I didn’t relax until we were back at the house and they were settled in.
Once Frankie and Ian headed off to bed for the night, I told Aubrey and Yvette I was gonna get some sleep. I needed it. A couple of hugs and kisses later, and I headed for my suite. We’d given Frankie and Ian their own wing. Mom had hers, and I had mine. The girls always stayed in my wing.
They used to crash in my room, but as we got older, I’d asked to add rooms for them and Mom hadn’t cared. So, I could lock myself in my suite and say I was “sleeping” and they’d leave me be.
Guilt pricked me. Yvette and Aubrey were my best friends. They’d come to help Frankie and Ian, or at least that was their excuse. I got it, they came to help me.
I was fine. However, nothing a little retail and party therapy couldn’t fix. At the moment, I didn’t want to be reasonable. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to be comforted. From one heartbreaking scenario to the other, the shit with the boys at school was craptastic, but Pen’s diagnosis killed me.
After all, I was the “problem child.” I could hardly hurt my reputation. I braided my blue hair into a crown so I could pull a wig on over it. Then I changed into dancing clothes.
My phone buzzed with a message from Jackie, right on schedule. Bless Jackie, she never missed a check-in for me.
Jackie
Pen finished the first round of chemo like a trooper. She was asking about you. Are you still free to come this weekend?
Me
Wouldn’t miss it. Make sure to let me know if you guys need anything. Thanks, Jackie.
The next couple of messages were a little more motherly, including one telling me to get some rest, ‘cause Bronson had ratted me out for not sleeping.
Traitor.
My next message was to Dix to meet me at the bottom of the driveway. He sent me a thumbs-up. The thigh-high boots were killer, as was the dress that basically was a skirt painted onto my ass and a tank top that didn’t quite cover my midriff.
Although once I got going, I’d be hot and sweaty. This was the fastest way to cool off. The dark wig I’d picked out hid my blue hair. If I didn’t care about my reputation, why the wig? Dix had asked me that more than once.
I shrugged. I just wanted to dance. Hit the clubs, forget that I was me, forget that my baby sister had cancer, forget that my asshole stepbrothers spent a year torturing me for whatever reason, forget my father didn’t want any of his children, even if he couldn’t stop fucking every woman who crossed his path.
Forget that I was Kaitlin fucking Crosse.
Forget I was even part of Torched.
I just wanted to be.
The doors in my suite opened out onto a private balcony, where I had a table and chairs. It also offered a great view of the western sky, perfect for sunsets and shit.
Hooking a leg over the railing, I climbed down the trellis that had been there since I was seven. I landed on the stone of the patio just behind one of the huge oversized pots that played host to a baby palm tree.
No sounds came from the pool or the house. I followed the garden wall to where I could squeeze out between two of the pillars, and then I was striding over the neatly manicured lawn toward the drive.